


on this night and in this light, i think i'm falling

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Series: the blind date au [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Human AU, M/M, Making out on a desk, Protective Crowley, Slow Dancing, crowley takes aziraphale to the serpent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 01:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21312055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: While it’s only been a few months since they met, it’s the longest Crowley has ever been with anyone. He keeps waiting to feel suffocated and trapped the way he usually does, keeps waiting for the urge to run far and fast to hit him. It hasn’t happened yet and he’s starting to realize it isn’t going to. He’s more gone on Ezra now than he was the moment their eyes locked at Eden Loft.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: the blind date au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536388
Comments: 137
Kudos: 946
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	on this night and in this light, i think i'm falling

**Author's Note:**

> There was a lot of interest for a sequel to [i'll be your man if you got love to get done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224630) and then this happened one afternoon. So I thought you all might like to have a look:) 
> 
> Story title from fallingforyou by the 1975.

Friday nights at the Serpent are legendary. Anyone with even a half-decent social life knows it’s the place to be for a good time on the weekend and Anthony Crowley prides himself on that well-known fact. As he slows the Bentley to a stop outside the club, however, and sees the throngs of people crowded around on the pavement hoping to gain a spot inside, he starts to reconsider the brilliant idea of introducing Ezra to the club tonight of all nights. He should have started with a less busy day of the week — hell, a Wednesday afternoon when it’s quiet and empty would have been ideal. 

He grimaces, glancing over at Ezra sitting in the passenger seat. Hands folded in his lap, he peers out the window with slightly widened eyes. “Quite a popular place, isn’t it?”

Despite the unease of his expression and the tension in his frame, Crowley hears the quiet pride in his voice and feels warmth bloom in his chest. A nightclub might be the last place a man like Ezra Fell would ever choose to go but he knows what it means to Crowley. He knows how hard Crowley has worked to make this place what it is. And so the success of the Serpent is important to him too. 

Or at least that’s what Ezra had said every time he’d asked to see the club and Crowley had balked. Tonight, though, Crowley has finally given in. He is far from immune to Ezra’s sweet little pout and the way he bats those wide blue eyes and every time Ezra has employed them, he’s only grown weaker to their effect on him. 

While it’s only been a few months since they met, it’s the longest Crowley has ever been with anyone. He keeps waiting to feel suffocated and trapped the way he usually does, keeps waiting for the urge to run far and fast to hit him. It hasn’t happened yet and he’s starting to realize it isn’t going to. He’s more gone on Ezra now than he was the moment their eyes locked at Eden Loft. 

How could he not be, when he learns more and more about Ezra with every day they spend together? He loves how particular Ezra is about his clothes; loves his prim, upturned nose and those glasses he wears when he reads; loves the way he lights up when Crowley takes his hand and the way he smiles at a plate of crepes. He’s kind and he’s generous and he looks at Crowley like he hung the stars in the sky. Why would he run when everything he never knew he needed is sitting right in front of him?

Reaching out a hand to clasp Ezra’s, Crowley eyes him fondly over the rim of his sunglasses. “We don’t have to go in, you know.” He squeezes Ezra’s fingers gently. “There’s still time to get a reservation at that little bistro you like in the Wick.”

Ezra purses his lips and shakes his head, still eyeing the crowded pavement outside the club. “Nonsense,” he says, and Crowley melts a bit at the brave lift of his chin. “I want to see this place you’ve built all on your own. It’ll be…fun.”

Crowley hides a smirk. “You sure?”

Nodding, Ezra glances away from the window and turns to him with a fretful crease between his brows Crowley longs to smooth away with his lips. “So long as you’re certain I won’t look too out of place.”

Pointedly not glancing down at Ezra’s pressed trousers, perfectly starched button down and waistcoat, or polished Oxfords, Crowley brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles. He wants to say something soppy and romantic like as long as Ezra is next to Crowley than he’ll never be out of place but those sort of sweet-nothings sound ridiculous coming from him. Much more Ezra’s area. 

He’s resolved to work on it, though. Eventually. 

“You look good enough to eat,” he promises instead, and means it. He certainly doesn’t fit in with the usual crowd that fills the Serpent but Crowley has no wish for him to. He likes his Ezra exactly as he is — soft and sweet and forever draped in pastels. He compliments Crowley in all the right ways. The yin to his yang. The light to his dark. The other half he spent his whole life convincing himself he wasn’t missing. “Now come on, angel.” He pauses to enjoy the way Ezra blushes at the endearment. “I want to show you off.”

Ezra clutches his hand as they wade through the crowd outside the door, either out of nerves or to ensure they don't lose each other in the sea of people. Crowley doesn’t ask, just grips his soft hand and keeps him close as he bullies his way to the front and nods to the bouncer. To his irritation, the one on duty tonight is the same one Crowley had taken to bed a few months before he met Ezra. He hadn’t taken it well when Crowley kicked him out of his flat in the morning and has been subjecting Crowley to longing, bitter glances ever since. 

“Mr. Crowley,” he says, stepping aside to allow them through. He eyes Ezra with disinterest, lips twisting resentfully as he takes in the starched collar and waistcoat. “New kink?”

“Boyfriend, actually,” Crowley snarls, not bothering to stop. 

Once they’re safely inside, Ezra leans into him with a frown. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Crowley assures him, gritting his teeth. “Drink, angel?”

“Yes, of course. But did you just call me your-” Much to Crowley’s relief, Ezra pauses to glance around curiously as his eyes begin to adjust to the dim lighting. Too distracted to continue his current line of questioning, he stares. “Oh, goodness.”

Once used as a warehouse decades ago, the Serpent is all open space and high ceilings — a strange mix of industrial and luxury. Concrete floors and exposed brick working alongside glittering chandeliers and plush leather seating to create an atmosphere somehow both gritty and decadent. Green neon lights flicker from the ceiling, combining with the warm glow from the chandeliers to cast an unearthly hue onto the mingling crowds. Music pounds through the room, the live band onstage working hard to keep people on the dance floor. On the upper levels, others lean over the railing to observe the dancing while they enjoy their cocktails. The bar itself is massive, made of rich dark wood and marble-topped, curving and twisting sinuously as a snake.

Watching Ezra gaze around in fascination, Crowley bites his lip. “What do you think?”

“It’s not my usual fare, you know that.” 

Crowley does know that. Much more of a quiet brandy and cigar sort of man, his Ezra. And Christ, he has _got_ to stop thinking of Ezra as his. It’s barely been three months. His stomach twists and he opens his mouth to apologize for even bringing him, to offer to take Ezra somewhere else to spend the evening. But Ezra turns to him, his eyes sparkling and his smile soft. Crowley snaps his mouth shut, too dazed by the sight of him to offer up any alternatives. 

“It’s wonderful, darling.” Ezra beams, glancing away to admire it all again. Crowley feels his heart leap in his chest, buoyant with relief. “Truly splendid.”

It’s impossible to hide how embarrassingly pleased he is to hear it so Crowley doesn’t even try, grinning down at Ezra, who sways toward him with that wide smile. Under the lights, his dandelion curls seem to glow. Crowley bends his head, dropping a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad you approve,” he murmurs, reaching for his hand again. “Now let’s get that drink.”

Most people crowded around the bar recognize him so it doesn’t take much effort to force his way to the front and drag Ezra with him. He bites back a fond smile, listening to Ezra hand out apologies to each person Crowley shoulders out of his way. _Terribly sorry, my dear girl. He’s in such a rush. Oh, what a lovely dress you’re wearing._

Crowley tugs gently on his hand, glancing over his shoulder with an exasperated smile. “Keep up, angel.” They finally reach the bar and as he leans over the bartop and holds out a hand to get the bartender’s attention, he nearly curses under his breath when he sees who is pouring tonight. Fucking hell, is it All of Crowley’s Exes Night at the Serpent? At this rate, that prick Lucius from Year Eleven should be making an appearance any time now.

“Anthony!” Sable grins widely, slapping his towel over his shoulder and leaning his hip into the bar. “You’re looking delectable this evening. Your usual?”

Crowley nods stiffly, hyper aware of Ezra standing just behind his shoulder and still clinging to his hand. With a pointed glare, he says, “And a gin and tonic for my date.”

Sable pouts, pushing off the bar. “And here I was hoping for another go.” He winks at Ezra over Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley could fucking _strangle_ him. “Keep an eye on him, love. He’s a slippery one.”

Ezra blinks at him, too bewildered to reply immediately. “I - yes. Thank you.”

Crowley squeezes his hand, grinding his teeth together so hard his temples are starting to ache. “Just get the bloody drinks, Sable.”

With one last leering grin, Sable wanders away and Crowley glances uneasily at Ezra, who smiles at him readily enough. He even leans into Crowley, though he supposes that might be the fault of the jostling crowd around them pressing them closer together. Crowley decides to be optimistic about it. “Sorry about him,” he says, leaning in close to be heard over the music. His lips brush Ezra’s ear and Ezra curls a hand into his jacket. “We had a…thing. Once.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” Ezra says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He seems quite sorry to lose you. As did the young man guarding the door on our way in.”

Crowley shrugs, mouth twitching into a smile despite himself. “Well, I got a better offer.”

“Really?” Ezra asks innocently, sliding his hand beneath Crowley’s jacket and pressing his palm warm and firm at his back. “Anyone I know?”

“I’ll introduce you later,” Crowley assures him wryly, and Ezra laughs. 

“Here you go, lovebirds.” Sable slides their drinks toward them, smirking when Crowley catches them just before they tip off the bar and to the floor. “Enjoy.”

Only too happy to get the hell away from Sable before he says one more word, Crowley guides Ezra away from the bar and into the crowd once more. Ezra sips his drink as Crowley shows him around with a hand at the small of his back, pointing out the heavy draperies covering the tall, wide windows and the imported tables he had gotten from Italy. 

Ezra smiles and remarks on the architecture, indulgent as anything while Crowley tugs him from one end of the club to the other — always pausing to say _hello_ to anyone who bumps into him. He even manages to strike up a few pleasant conversations with the people he apologizes to on Crowley’s behalf, charming them all. A nightclub may not be Ezra Fell’s usual scene but Crowley isn’t surprised at all to find he can make friends absolutely anywhere. 

The sole focus of most of Ezra’s attention, however, is on Crowley. He keeps close to him even when talking with someone else, a hand tucked into Crowley’s or curled around his elbow. He leans into Crowley’s side and his eyes always search him out like he can’t bear to look away for long. He hangs on Crowley’s every word as they tour the club, smiling beatifically whenever he finds Crowley’s business acumen particularly clever. 

Crowley, who hadn’t really had anyone to discuss the club with while he was building it into what it has become, finds himself eager to tell Ezra everything; how he’d agonized over the placement of the stage and the art on the walls or the times he considered giving up and going back to his boring corporate job. Ezra hadn’t been there for any of that but Crowley wishes he had been. And so he tells him everything, as if it’ll somehow make the burden of all those lonely decisions a little easier to bear. 

Ezra stands before a statue sitting on a shelf just over a leather sofa in one corner of the club, remarking dryly over the intimate position of an angel and a demon wrestling and Crowley, who relishes any opportunity to bicker with him, eases happily into an argument over the expressions on their faces. Agony or ecstasy?

“Anthony,” Ezra says, patiently. “I know you’re quite fond of shocking others when you can but I’m just not sure pornography has a place in the public eye-”

“S’not pornography,” Crowley sighs, lifting his glass to his lips. “It’s art. And for the tenth time, angel, they’re wrestling.”

“Oh.” Ezra raises an eyebrow, a little smirk curling his mouth, and he looks so thoroughly naughty that Crowley has to stifle a groan. “Is _that_ what we’ve been doing, darling?”

“Ngk. Look-” Crowley stiffens, turning his head when he sees a flicker out of the corner of his eye. He turns sharply, watching bright red hair weave its way through the crowd, ever closer to them. “Fuck,” he mutters, and curls a hand around Ezra’s forearm. At Ezra’s puzzled glance, Crowley sighs. “M’just gonna apologize in advance for…whatever is about to happen.”

Ezra frowns, stepping closer out of concern. “What-”

Crowley grits his teeth. “You’ll see.”

Ezra doesn’t get a chance to question him further, interrupted by the waitress who strolls right up to them swinging an empty drinks tray at her side. “Anthony,” she purrs, grinning. “About time you showed up for work.”

Crowley glares. “I’m here every night, Scarlett.”

She shrugs, tossing her long red braid over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “Well you used to _sleep_ here, so forgive me for assuming you’d been finally keeled over from working yourself to death.” She flicks her dark gaze in Ezra’s direction and a little smirk curls her red lips. “But I suppose you’ve got better places to sleep these days.”

Ezra flushes, waggling his fingers in a shy, embarrassed wave. “Hello.”

Fucking hell, Crowley adores him. 

“Aren’t you a darling little thing?” Scarlett grins, wide and mischievous. Crowley curls his fingers tight around his glass, instantly on edge. “You’ve no idea the amount of broken hearts ‘round here since this one took himself off the market. Going home alone every night and not even flirting with the bouncers anymore. We’ve all been dying to meet the man who tamed him.”

Glancing uneasily at Crowley, Ezra chuckles nervously. “Oh, I’m afraid I haven’t done any taming.”

“You didn’t have to,” Crowley says, forcing his glower from Scarlett and softening when he looks at Ezra. He lifts his drink to his lips again and murmurs, “I don’t wander.”

Ezra smiles, bright enough to turn Crowley’s insides all wobbly. “No matter,” he says softly. “I’d follow.”

As Crowley stares into warm blue eyes and contemplates snogging the hell out of him right there, Scarlett drawls, “Well fuck, you’re actually perfect. Dagon must be pissed.”

With a barely restrained growl, Crowley whirls on her. “You’re still here.”

“I’ve got business,” she says, shifting the drinks tray to her other hand and cocking her hip. “Just wanted to irritate you first.”

“Mission accomplished,” he bites out. “Now what?”

Ezra clears his throat, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “I’ll just go get us another drink, darling.”

At Crowley’s terse nod, he slips away towards the bar. Refusing to let his gaze follow him, Crowley glares at Scarlett and bites out, “What do you want?”

She jerks her thumb over her shoulder and says, “The guy who didn’t pay his tab last week is back. Not sure how he slipped in but-”

“Get him out.” Crowley scans the crowd, frowning at the endless sea of faces. “And make sure all the bouncers get a good look at his face this time, yeah? He makes it in again it’s coming out of their pay.”

“Sure thing, boss man.” Scarlett gives him a jaunty, slightly mocking salute and while Crowley waits for her to slink away, her gaze wanders over his shoulder. He tenses, knowing instantly just what — or who — she’s watching. “He seems…sweet.”

She wrinkles her nose as she says it, as though she can’t imagine the appeal. Not too terribly long ago, Crowley might have felt the same way but now, he softens and admits, “Yeah. He is.”

Scarlett tilts her head, her long braid brushing her arm. “What’s he doing with you?”

Crowley snorts. “No idea. Now sod off and mind your own business before you scare him away.” As she tucks her empty tray under her arm and turns to wade back through the crowd, Crowley finally relaxes his grip on his drink. Downing the rest of it in one go, he sets the empty glass on a nearby table and scans the bar for Ezra. 

It doesn’t take long to spot him. In this dark club and under the neon lights, some might say Ezra sticks out like a sore thumb with his pale hair and his soft pastel clothes but Crowley privately likens him to a beacon in the darkness. A lighthouse to guide the way safely home. And oh, for fuck’s _sake_. He has got to stop going on like a bloody character in those romance novels Ezra likes to pretend he’s too highbrow to read. Or at least start saying these things out loud where Ezra can hear them, just to watch him blush and stammer. 

Crowley takes one step toward Ezra before he realizes why the blond hasn’t made his way back to him on his own yet. Cradling a drink in each hand, Ezra wears a strained smile as some ponce in loafers and a sleek blazer leans in too close and leers at him. Crowley doesn’t realize he’s grinding his teeth together until his temples start to ache again. 

He sidles over, winding his way through the crowd until he’s close enough to wrap a possessive arm around Ezra’s waist and nuzzle at his temple. “Make a new friend, angel?”

Ezra glances up, gratitude in his eyes. 

Poncy Loafers holds up his hands and takes a step back, grimacing. Now that he’s close enough, Crowley vaguely recognizes him as a frequent visitor to the Serpent. “Sorry, Anthony. Didn’t realize he was one of yours.”

With his arm still curled around Ezra’s waist, Crowley feels the moment he stiffens. He turns his head, frowning, but Ezra won’t look at him. Instead, he watches Poncy Loafers’ hasty retreat with a little crease between his brows. “All right?” He murmurs, carefully prying his drink from Ezra’s grip. 

“Hmm?” Ezra blinks and when he finally turns to Crowley, his expression shifts into something more familiar. Just soft enough to put Crowley at ease once more. “Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you for the, uh, rescue.”

Crowley scrunches up his nose and admits, “Purely selfish, angel. M’not very good at sharing.” He watches Ezra smile a small, secret smile, and takes a gulp of his scotch. Inclining his head toward the dance floor, he asks, “Have a go with me?”

Ezra blinks at him, startled, and flushes. “Well, I-” He sighs, a bit mournfully, and drops his gaze to stare into his gin and tonic. “I never really learned how, I’m afraid.”

Crowley shrugs, trying for nonchalance all while his heart lurches in his chest watching Ezra fidget. “It’s a slow one,” he says, holding out a hand in question. He eyes Ezra hopefully. “Nothing to it.”

Biting his lip, Ezra glances between Crowley and the crowded dance floor. “Oh, all right.” He slips his hand into Crowley’s, still looking hesitant. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Grinning, Crowley sets aside both their drinks and tugs Ezra out onto the floor. The crowd welcomes them, the swaying bodies moving together to make way — cocooning them in their warm mass. Crowley and Ezra find themselves in the middle of it all, pressed together intimately as the music swells. Ezra stumbles a little as he finds his footing, steadied by Crowley’s hand curled around his hip. 

“Oh,” Ezra breathes, shuffling closer. He peers at Crowley through his lashes, smiling softly. “This isn’t so bad.”

“See?” Crowley murmurs, ducking his head to press his lips to Ezra’s soft hair. “Slow is easy.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Ezra hums in agreement. “Right as always, darling.” His head falls to rest against Crowley’s bony shoulder and suddenly it’s as though the dance floor is empty. As though the whole club is empty, save for Crowley swaying with Ezra in his arms. He strokes the nape of Ezra’s neck with his fingertips, humming along to the haunting tune the band plays. 

Ezra buries his face in Crowley’s neck, scattering featherlight kisses across his collarbone. Breathing in the soft scent of him, Crowley cradles Ezra close against his chest as they move. No one has ever fit him the way Ezra does so effortlessly, all of his soft muscle slotting perfectly into place alongside Crowley’s sharp edges. Crowley wants to curl into him, to seep beneath his skin and warm himself beside the steady beat of Ezra’s heart until its rhythm spells out only _Crowley_. _Crowley_. _Crowley_. Until that heart needs him to keep beating, as essential as the blood that flows through it. Crowley wants to be necessary to Ezra Fell, so they’ll never be parted. 

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, Ezra holds on just a little too tight. Crowley loves it. Anyone else would have made him feel trapped but with Ezra, it just feels like being safe. He settles bonelessly into the tight embrace, his mouth brushing hot against the shell of Ezra’s ear. He hums absently along with the music and Ezra shudders against him, pressing impossibly closer. Crowley bites his lip, not quite managing to stifle a groan.

Ezra hears it, breathing in sharply. 

Grazing his teeth lightly over Ezra’s ear, Crowley slides a hand from his hip and down. Ezra jerks into his touch, whimpering when Crowley squeezes lightly. His breath is a warm wash against Crowley’s throat. Crowley bites back a needy sound of his own, ducking his head to bury his face in the crook of Ezra’s sweet-smelling neck. They stay pressed close together like that, rubbing intimately against each other on the dance floor and trying to remember how to breathe. 

By the time the music fades out and the band begins a new song, Crowley’s jeans are too tight and Ezra is beautifully flushed. Swallowing roughly, Crowley lifts his head and blinks, as if waking from a dream. Looking into dazed blue eyes, he rasps, “Want to see my office?”

Catching on instantly, Ezra nods, his eyes lingering on Crowley’s lips as he says, “I believe I’d enjoy that.”

Even up on the third level, the music still pounds through the floor. 

Crowley lets Ezra into his office, lingering in the corridor as he waves off a group of regulars trying to entice him back downstairs for a few drinks. The three of them crowd around his office door, one of them hanging back to watch him hopefully while the other two take turns touching his arm and pleading with him for just one drink. The last time they’d run into each other a few months ago, Crowley had invited all three of them back to his flat and something about the way they’re looking at him tells him they’re hoping for a repeat invitation. He grimaces, taking another step into his office and gripping the door handle. “Yeah sorry, already have plans.”

One of them peers over Crowley’s shoulder, grinning. “He can join too, if you like.”

The thought of any of them — of anyone else at all — touching Ezra makes Crowley recoil. His lips curl into a snarl and he’s already slamming the door as he bites out, “I _don’t_ share.”

He flips the lock and turns on his heel. His eyes fall instantly upon Ezra standing at the windows, his arms wrapped around his middle as he gazes out over the city streets below. He grimaces at the tight line of Ezra’s shoulders, the stiff way he holds himself. _Fuck_. The mood has definitely been ruined. It seems all they’ve done all night is fend of Crowley’s old flings and he has no fucking idea why he’d thought it would be a good idea to bring Ezra here. Christ only knows what he must be thinking right now. Nothing good about Crowley, that’s for bloody certain. 

Sidling hesitantly across the room, Crowley comes up behind Ezra and drops his chin onto his shoulder. He fully expects to be elbowed away or even snapped at if Ezra is feeling touchy enough. But to Crowley's surprise, Ezra doesn’t shrug him off. He risks wrapping his arms around his waist and dropping a kiss to the back of Ezra's neck. To his immense relief, Ezra leans into his chest with a sigh. Maybe there might be some hope for salvaging this disaster of an evening after all. 

“So,” he says, pressing into him and letting Ezra feel how very much he still wants him despite their interruption. “What do you think of the place?”

Ezra smiles faintly and Crowley can see it in the window’s reflection. “It’s lovely.”

“You sure?” He drops another, more lingering kiss to the curve of Ezra’s neck and feels him shiver. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.” Ezra tilts his head, giving Crowley more space to work as he sets about sucking a mark into Ezra’s lovely, soft skin. His breathing hitches when Crowley darts out his tongue and Crowley watches in the window as his eyes flutter shut. “Truly, I am.”

Crowley makes a skeptical noise in the back of his throat. “I know it hasn’t been long but I like to think I know you a bit better than that.” He nips sharply at Ezra’s throat, grip around his waist tightening. “C’mon, angel. Penny for ‘em.”

“It’s nothing.” Ezra squirms in his grip until Crowley drops his arm with a sigh, letting him step away. He doesn’t turn around, just moves closer to the window and wraps his arms around himself once more. It makes Crowley ache to look at him. “I’m being silly, really.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Ezra sighs again, tugging unnecessarily at his waistcoat. “It’s only that I’ve met quite a lot of people this evening. Many of them your former…paramours.”

“Hardly that.” Crowley shrugs, feeling an itch under his skin at the idea of referring to any of those encounters as anything other than what they were. Just sex. “Flings, really.”

“Yes. Well.” Ezra clears his throat and in the window’s reflection, Crowley watches him bite his lip. “One can’t help but wonder, what with there being so many of them — not that I care about such things, mind you — but-”

Heart in his stomach, Crowley braces himself to be dropped like a hot potato and snaps, “Spit it out, Ezra.”

_Sorry Anthony, I had no idea you were such a tart and I deserve better than their seconds._

“Am I…a fling?”

Crowley stares at Ezra’s back, bewildered. He blinks. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again. “You…what?”

“I understand if I am, of course.” At Crowley’s silence, Ezra rushes onward. He wrings his hands, finally turning to face Crowley but refusing to actually look at him. He stares over his shoulder instead, his brow creased with distress. “But I’d like to know so I’ll be prepared-” He purses his lips before he finishes quietly, “To lose you.”

It had never occurred to him that Ezra might be feeling insecure. He had been fully prepared for Ezra to cut ties with him after so many encounters with his exes tonight but never once had he thought for a moment that it would be because Ezra might not understand exactly what he means to Crowley. That he thought Crowley might get _bored_ of him. He’d thought they were on the same page. He thought Ezra _knew_.

This is…_it_. Everything Crowley had never allowed himself to believe he could have. Everything he’d never believed he deserved. It’s his own fault Ezra doesn’t know. Crowley is rubbish at saying how he feels and Ezra likes words so very much, fawning over the printed page like a lover worshipping his sweetheart. Crowley has been telling himself for months now that he’ll learn to say the words eventually, that one day all the things he feels will just fall naturally off his tongue. But there isn’t time to wait — Ezra needs to hear the words now.

Crowley shifts uneasily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Do you know how many people I’ve left sleeping in my bed in the morning while I slip out to grab their favorite pastries from the bakery round the corner? How many people I’ve not kicked out immediately the next day? How many of them I’ve let hold me after a nightmare? Or read Shakespeare to me? How many I’ve skived off work just to spend some time with?”

And _fuck_, Crowley is absolutely terrible at this because Ezra droops a bit as he glances down at his shoes. “I see…”

“No, it-” Crowley swallows thickly, rubbing a hand nervously at the back of his neck. “One, angel. Just one.” He watches Ezra lifts his head instantly, his eyes wide. “He’s a fussy little thing but I quite like him that way.”

Ezra’s face crumples, making Crowley ache to reach out for him. His eyes mist over and he smiles weakly. “Oh. Really?”

Crowley sighs. “Fuck’s sake, Ezra. Thought you knew. I don’t do this-” He slips a hand out of his pocket to wave it between them helplessly. “Relationships. I’m not…good at them. Except, y’know, with you. You’re different.”

“Not too different?” At Crowley’s puzzled glance, Ezra goes back to wringing his hands again. “You must have noticed I don’t exactly fit in here. Everyone else certainly has. And I know it’s quite early to be worrying about where this is all going but I’m terrible at casual. And apparently casual is all you’ve ever done-”

“Not anymore,” Crowley interrupts firmly, taking a step forward. Leaving no room for uncertainty as he meets Ezra’s gaze openly. “Not with you.”

Unable to hold himself back a moment longer, Crowley surges forward and grasps Ezra around the back of the neck. Ezra stumbles into him gladly, tipping his head up to accept Crowley’s greedy kiss. And it’s just as all-consuming as it had been that first time, standing outside of Eden Loft and clinging to each other. He’s never felt anything like it before; like he’s been set aflame and would willingly let the fire consume him until he’s nothing but ash so long as Ezra doesn’t let go of him. Ezra’s lips are soft and plush, parting the moment Crowley brushes his tongue against them. And _oh_, he tastes so good. Like gin and those buttery biscuits he keeps hidden in a little tin on his bookshelf. 

Ezra slips his hand beneath Crowley’s t-shirt, his palm warm and soft as he slides his fingers hungrily across Crowley’s abdomen. Crowley shudders, tearing his mouth reluctantly away to lift the shirt over his head with shaking hands and toss it away. His hands fall to the buttons of Ezra’s waistcoat instantly and he growls, “Why do you wear so many bloody clothes?”

In the middle of tracing his tongue over the freckles on Crowley’s shoulder, Ezra only replies, “Because I know how much you enjoy a challenge, my dear.”

Crowley bites back a whimper, abandoning the frustrating buttons to fumble between them for the fastenings of Ezra’s trousers. Ezra gasps so beautifully when his hand brushes the bulge between his legs. With a wicked grin, Crowley guides him backwards until they stumble into his desk. Without being asked, Ezra settles onto the edge and parts his legs invitingly, allowing Crowley to step between them. 

Sliding his hands up Ezra’s lovely thighs, Crowley finds his mouth again and sighs in relief. Ezra grasps him around the back of the neck, keeping him close, and Crowley’s thoughts go fuzzy. He nudges Ezra back with a hand on his chest and _Christ_ he loves how pliable Ezra is beneath him. He lets himself be pressed into the table but he makes sure to pull Crowley with him, curling a hand around the back of his neck until Crowley follows. The angle of their kiss changes and Ezra whines into his mouth, arching beneath him as Crowley pins him in. Easing the ache in his trousers by rubbing himself against the delicious crease of Ezra’s thigh. 

Beneath them, papers scatter across the desk and onto the floor as they buck into each other. Ezra makes a soft noise of distress, turning his head to peer at the floor even as Crowley bites at the curve of his neck. “Oh, Anthony, your papers-”

Crowley groans. Ezra’s fingers trace loving patterns over his skin and his hot mouth is sweeter than the best dream Crowley has ever had. The last thing on his mind is ruining a bit of _paperwork_. “Leave it.”

“But-” Ezra gasps for breath as Crowley sucks a deep, wet kiss into the underside of his jaw. “_Oh_.” His lashes flutter helplessly and for a moment, he’s blissfully silent save for the occasional needy whimper until — “I don’t — I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope for that this desk hasn’t been christened yet?”

Crowley lifts his head and studies Ezra’s bright eyes and kiss-bruised mouth. He grins. “I’m pleased to inform you that you’re the first, angel. I don’t usually mix business with pleasure.” Ezra offers him a dubious look, his skepticism clear after having just met a whole queue of people in Crowley’s place of work that he’d absolutely taken to bed. And Crowley sighs. “You know what I mean. No one’s been in here, I swear it.”

Ezra reaches out a gentle hand to cup his cheek, his thumb swiping tenderly across the snake tattoo beneath Crowley’s temple. “It wouldn’t matter if there had been someone else in here.” He smiles, shy and hesitant. “I may not be your first in a great many things, Anthony, but I’ve every intention of being your last.”

Throat tight and eyes burning, Crowley stares. Fucking hell, how did Crowley manage to find the one perfect man in the whole of creation? He hasn’t a clue but he’ll be damned before he lets him get away. 

Watching him anxiously through his lashes, Ezra amends at Crowley’s silence, “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley manages, his voice rough. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Ezra beams, turning his head to glance around casually. As if Crowley isn’t half-dressed and pinning him to his desk. Crowley can’t decide if he’s more amused or insulted. “Now, this is a lovely office but I do think it could use a few homey touches. How do you feel about tartan, darling?”

“No,” Crowley says instantly, groaning. “No, no. Absolutely not.”

Ezra turns to look at him again, the beginnings of a pout forming in his expression. And _fuck it all_, he knows Crowley is weak for that face. “Just a touch,” he says, eyes pleading. “Maybe a few throw pillows on the sofa over there.”

Gritting his teeth, Crowley steels himself. He shuts his eyes for good measure, just so Ezra’s sweet little pout won’t sway him. Knowing all the while that he’ll end up with tartan accent pillows anyway. “Forget it, angel.” He opens one eye to peer down at him, smirking suddenly. “The only way I like tartan is when I’m stripping it off you.”

He yanks pointedly at Ezra’s bowtie with his teeth. Ezra laughs, flushed and delighted. His hands comes up to cradle Crowley’s face between soft palms once more. Eyes bright, he relents, “Well, I suppose I can live with that.”


End file.
